Doctor Withnail And Who
by Doctor Whoops
Summary: Doctor Who Withnail & I Crossover. Imagine that it was Marwood and not McGann who played the 8th Doctor, then imagine that Withnail voiced the Doc in Shalka and not Grant. It is 10 years after Withnail and I and this is their first meeting since then.


Disclaimer:- I don't the rights to any of this just read and enjoy.

Dedicated to P & J with love xoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxxoo

Trying not to catch anybody's eye I gingerly made my way back across the pub on what seemed to be a never-ending journey from the grubby urinals back to my seat.  

I was struck by the sudden realisation that this semi-apologetic manner only ever seemed to come over me on the admittedly rare occasions nowadays, that I found myself in a pub.  It's a habit I'm positive I picked up back in the days when I shared a flat with Withnail.  Back in the days when being noticed in Withnail's raucous company often got me into trouble.  

It's strange really on reflection, that in a profession where recognition is everything I still crave anonymity in public.  Another random yet interesting thought that I would be sure to write down later.        

If nothing else my sheepish behaviour served as yet further confirmation to me that the more things change the more they remain the same.  And to my dismay, it was evident that Withnail had barely changed in over ten years.  Granted the recent upswing in his career had provided my old friend with a better wardrobe, but the designer suit and now neatly styled and trimmed hair still framed themselves around the same old pale, gaunt, haunted looking figure I bade farewell to in Regent's Park over a decade ago.  

Conscious that I was staring, I quickly averted my gaze to study the table and the triple round of drinks that lay there in wait.  There were four large gins and four pints of cider with ice, neatly paired up.  

The more things change…

Old times and memories briefly flashed by things that I had hoped would remain forgotten forever.  

"Withnail when you said you were going to get the next round in I thought…"  

"Chin chin old chap!"  Withnail raised his glass in dismissal of any further protest. 

Reluctantly I took my seat and raised a glass of cider.  

"To Doctor Who!"  Withnail beamed, "and those bastards at the BBC who finally saw the sense to cast some true talent in the role!"  He added with his usual trace of bitterness.

"Oh come on Withnail you should let bygones be bygones…"

"That's easy for you to say, you've had a career!"  Withnail stared at me accusingly.

"Well so have you!"  I countered,  "I remember you got that cigar commercial you were always on about!"

"Only because the poor bastard they originally gave it to was diagnosed with throat cancer!"  Withnail spluttered, "As usual I was second choice!"

"Well we've all been there, I wasn't even the first choice for Doctor Who you know…"

"Really?"  Withnail sighed, "how ironic, still the fans have voted you as their favourite to re-assume the role for the new series, it's all over the web like nappy rash!"

Here we go again I thought.  No matter what happens Withnail is eternally consumed with jealousy and insecurity.  He has a string of TV appearances to his name; a substantial batch of stage work that has won him mostly favourable reviews and still it's not enough.  

"Well I try not to pay too much attention to fan sites," I replied calmly as Withnail took a sip from his beer.

"You even beat Tom Baker!"  Withnail spluttered half his cider out in disgust before following it up with a swift gulp of gin.  "I don't even get a mention, apparently the general consensus is that I am not canon, whatever the fuck that means!"

Part of me wondered why I ever agreed to this meeting. Curiosity I suppose but it only took me ten minutes to realise how much I had moved on since ten years ago, and how little difference the years had made to Withnail. 

To be blunt I didn't need this shit, it was my day off,   I could be at home right now with my wife and children but nostalgia had got the better of me.

 "Withnail," I sighed summoning every ounce of patience I possessed, "I haven't even been approached yet, and besides, it's well known that they are looking for a new actor to re-launch the show, and you are the actor that is currently associated with the role it's far more likely to be you Withnail, they are bound to give you first choice!" 

"Me? I sincerely doubt it," Withnail replied mournfully, "You forget, I am just the voice of Doctor Who for the animated web episodes!  I don't even get to be on TV!  At the very least you will be asked back to do a regeneration scene, why can't I regenerate?"  Again Withnail flashed me an accusing glare, "And you got to play the part in a film, in Hollywood no less, why can't I be in a film?"

"It was a pilot for a proposed TV show Withnail, in the end it was cancelled!"

"Yes but I know you made other films in Hollywood too just on the strength of that!"  Withnail hissed, "you did that vampire shit recently, why can't I do a vampire film?"

"I'm sure you would be perfect," I responded trying to keep all traces of irony out of my voice.  I risked a furtive glance around, and it was just as I feared we were attracting attention, this was partly to do with Withnail's constant outbursts and partly and please don't think I'm being conceited because people were nodding towards me in recognition.

I caught snippets of hushed conversation from all directions.

"It's him…"

"…bloke off the telly…"    

You would think I would be used to this by now, people talking about me as if I'm not here, as if people were at home watching me on "the telly," but no, it just makes me feel like the latest thing in the menagerie.  

"Do you know where I was at the time?"  Withnail's voice returned my attention to the here and now.

I knew all too well that the question was rhetorical and I became aware of an uneasy feeling that has been working its way through me.  The warning signs were all there,  Withnail's stare was become more manic than I remembered, and his voice level was creeping up. 

It was clear that a crisis point was looming.

"Frinton On Sea!"  Withnail continued his rant "Doing Tom fucking Stoppard that's where I was!  Six months of dreary seaside theatre rep up and down the country playing to barely half filled seats containing more crusty old tarts than a box of kiplings!  Most of whom had turned up a week too early for the stage version of The Full fucking Monty!" 

I looked around nervously, painfully aware that people were still staring, and not in a good way.

"Have you ever tried doing Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with half the auditorium shouting get your kit off?"

"Withnail keep your voice down…" I tried to interrupt.

 "I was so fucked off by the last night I complied and did the second half completely starkers!"

"Withnail please people are looking…"

 "I got three encores and was reliably informed by the theatre director that I will never work in Scunthorpe again!"   

"Look Withnail Doctor Who is not like any other part," I desperately tried to change the subject, "there's a forty five year old tradition here, and being cast as The Doctor is a great honour, there's a huge worldwide fanbase out there, and you'll be asked to appear at conventions, there will be spin off merchandise, novels and so forth all bearing your image, there will doubtless be a DVD release for which you will be called upon to do commentary and interviews, then there's the audio drama franchise, of which the scripts are …"

"Stop it!"  Withnail cut him off, "I can't bear the thought of turning up at some shabby little hotel to answer asinine questions from a bunch of sci-fi nerds about where I fit in to forty five years of this crap!  They've made it perfectly clear that as far as they are concerned I am the George Lazenby of Doctor Who's!"     

"That's not true Withnail, Scream Of The Shalka was very well received and the fans would like you to do more."

"Really?"

"Yes Withnail really, but you must try and be respectful to the fans no matter how strange they might seem at times, it really is the only way to deal with it.  Besides you've got to remember it's a family show."

Withnail nodded comprehendingly, "you're absolutely right."

"Excuse me," said a nervous voice from behind.

Withnail glared at the intruder,  "About time I ordered sausage and chips over half an hour ago …"

"Withnail!"  I cried in exasperation, "He's not a waiter!"

"Oh," Withnail paused to study the young man in front of him nervously fiddling with a notepad and pen.   "Well what in the name of all fuckery do you want?"   

"Please excuse my friend," I jumped in before Withnail could say anything else, "he's not feeling quite himself today.  Are you Withnail?"   

"You're Peter Marwood aren't you?"  The young man said smiling at me nervously.

"Yes I am," I confirmed.

"I'm a big fan I thought you were great in the movie and the audios I wonder if you could possibly sign this…"

Withnail snorted derisively, "Can't you see he's busy?  AND WHERE IS MY FOOD? "

"Is there a problem sir?"  The voice of a softly spoken man came from behind.

"No problem really," I replied hastily signing the autograph and handing back the pad.  

"YES, THERE IS A PROBLEM!" Withnail insisted.  "My friend and I have not seen each other in over a decade!  Our agents arranged for us to meet and catch up on old times, naturally this involves drinks and food!"  Withnail paused to down the rest of his cider, and let out a belch.  "As you can see I've taken care of drinks," he rose from his seat.

"Withnail no this is not a good idea…"

But Withnail shook his head dismissively at my protests.

"BUT WE HAVE NO FOOD!"  and so saying, Withnail turned to face the softly spoken man, who was elderly and yet vaguely familiar.

"Have we met before sir?"  The elderly gentleman enquired.  

"Yes we have," Withnail replied sarcastically, "Except when we ordered our food from you, you were fifty years younger!"

There was something vaguely familiar about all this to me but for the moment it escaped, it was out there on the edge of my memories.  Where had I seen this man before? 

"We don't age you see…" Withnail was explaining whilst desperately trying to keep upright, "we are Time Lords!"  He giggled, "We can degenerate!" 

"Is everything alright boss?"  The doorman planted his six-foot muscular frame beside the old man, and began to click his knuckles.

"Everthing is fine," cooed Withnail in that sycophantic tone he always affected when he was scared.  "The drinks were lovely really" Withnail continued his annoying coo, "It's just that my friend is diabetic…."

I groaned as Withnail gestured towards me,  I was now involved. 

"He needs to eat you see or he might collapse!  We ordered food hours ago and it hasn't arrived!"  

"Withnail…" I pleaded.

"It's okay," Withnail cooed with fake assurance, "Try and hold on, the food will come soon…" 

Abandoning all hopes of trying to explain, I gestured to a corner of the table that didn't contain drinks.   In particular Withnail noticed that I was indicating the presence of two half finished plates that had been pushed aside earlier to make room for the tray drinks.  

"It seems you've already eaten sir!"  The soft voice was taking on a steely tone.  "In between drinks that is."  

"Why didn't you tell me you were hungry?"  Withnail hissed, again, the accusatory glare going my way.  "It seems there has been a misunderstanding with my fr…. Acquaintance," Withnail continued.

"Well now that you have got over your misunderstanding perhaps you would both like to leave!" 

"You can't talk to him like that!"  

All eyes turned towards the young man who had been all but forgotten.  

"Do you know who this is?"

"Yes!"  Withnail echoed smugly, "Do you know who I am?"

"This is Peter Marwood!"  The young man exclaimed completely ignoring Withnail's interruption.  "You've no right to talk to him like that!"

"It's okay, it's fine," I sighed, "Come on Withnail let's go."

"No wait a minute," Withnail countered, "the lad has a point, ten years in the business and no one has ever spoken to me like that!  I demand to see the proprietor!"

"That would be me."  The softly spoken voice now had a much harsher edge to it.  "Now will you leave of your own free will?"

"Ah good, I'm glad you're the proprietor," Withnail responded, "I was going to have to have a word with you anyway. We're doing a film up here…"

"I knew I had seen you before!"  The Proprietor hissed, "Mister Blennerhassit," he gestured to the doorman, "escort these gentlemen out!"

It was the name "Blennerhassit" that tipped it for me; both Withnail and I had met this proprietor over ten years ago in a tearoom in Penryth.  On that occasion he had ordered a Ms Blennerhassit to telephone the police.  Clearly whatever relation this gargantuan sibling bore to that quiet inoffensive waitress he was obviously there to dispense with such niceties as phoning for assistance, and was currently advancing slowly and menacingly towards us.      

I couldn't fathom how he could possibly have gone from owning a tearoom in Penryth to a Pub/Restaurant in Kingston Upon Thames, maybe he owned them both all along, unable to take my eyes off the menace in front, I sensed    Withnail who had been slowly backing away was now cowering to my left side.  And further speculation on the how's and why's of running tearooms and pub's was suddenly way down on my list of priorities.

"What now Doctor?"  I found myself asking Withnail sarcastically.

Choosing to ignore this Withnail began his usual self preservative bollocks of pleading that he has a "weak heart" and that if he were to be hit it would be "murder". 

"You came into my tea rooms blind drunk, and were rude to me and my staff," the proprietor gave Mister Blennerhassit a significant look, "you threatened to buy my business and sack my employees!"

Mister Blennerhassit was in front of us now, and before I knew where I was, the room spun suddenly and I found myself head locked beneath his left arm.  Withnail I was pleased to note was in the same position on his right. 

"That was years ago," I reminded him, Mister Blennerhassit's grip became tighter,  "Look you want us to leave we will go, just er…call off your man please."  

I felt this was not an unreasonable request.

The Proprietor seemed to consider this for a moment, but only a moment.

"NO!"  He smiled maliciously, "attempting to leave without settling your bill is a criminal offence."

I realised where this was going, the drinks were paid for at the bar, but you had to request a bill for the food.  

"The police are on their way!"  An elderly female voice announced.

I strained in my headlock to see it's owner, a frail looking old dear, over by the bar was grinning maliciously by the telephone.

"Ms Blennerhassitt!"  I smiled, "you're looking well…" The grip round my neck tightened even more, I couldn't breathe.

"That's my wife you're talking to!"      Mister Blennerhassit growled.

Wife?  But he barely looked a day over thirty, either the lack of oxygen to my head was playing tricks, or…? 

I didn't want to think about the "or."

I was aware that the happily married Mister Blennerhassit was dragging us both across the pub in the direction of what looked like the entrance to the cellar.  

I could hear the autograph hunter arguing strongly with the proprietor who sharply told him "if he didn't shut up he was going to be next!"  

To my dismay I could see Mrs Blennerhassit now holding open the cellar door and cackcling madly.

Withnail was still whinging about his heart; it was all I could do to breathe!  We were unceremoniously pushed into the cellar room where I landed on my hands and knees, Withnail was not so lucky and banged his head on a beer barrel.  Unfortunately he was still conscious.

"Well done Withnail!"  I screamed, "Out of all the pubs in England you had to choose this one!"

"My agent suggested it!"  He countered, "Besides I've been banned from drinking anywhere in Camden…"  He muttered as if this explained everything.

I was shaking, "I haven't seen you in ten years and in one afternoon you've fucked up my life!"  I screamed.  "The police will be here soon Withnail!  They are going to take us to jail, for being drunk and disorderly!  I'll be in all the papers!"

"So what?"  Withnail sighed, "Any publicity is good publicity, depends on the spin..."

"We might have to spend the night in a cell Withnail, did you think of that?"  A horrible thought struck me,  "they fuck arses in prison!"

"I think we'll survive one night," Withnail said.  

But the thought had got a hold of me, and my fear wouldn't let it go.  

"We have to get out of here Withnail!  We have to find a way out!"

"The only way out is through that door!"  Withnail sighed resignedly, rubbing his injured head.  "We need a sonic screwdriver…" He started to laugh. 

"It's not funny Withnail!"  I countered.

"Oh but it is!"  He sighed, "Don't you see The Doctor always allows himself to be captured by the enemy!  That's how he manages to get close and foil their plan!  Think of this whole experience as a method acting excercise!  In fact that's what I intend to tell the police!"

I wasn't going to let this happen, I wasn't going to be the new prison bitch, or stand by and have to listen to Withnail drop us into even deeper shit when the law arrived.  If there was one thing Withnail was good at it was pissing the wrong people off, and then pissing them off even more!

I got on my feet and studied the cellar, there were stairs leading to a trap door, which undoubtedly came out on the street.  I then spent a fruitless ten minutes trying to ram my way out with a small barrel of ale.

"They will now add criminal damage to our list of offences," Withnail observed grimly.  

Suddenly we heard a noise as the cellar door was opened.

"Drop the barrel!"  Withnail cried, "Don't let them catch you with it!" 

I was always crap at throwing, and this effort didn't turn out any better, in my angst to put as much distance between me and the beer barrel I flung it across the cellar intending to arrange myself afterwards to pretend that I had been casually seated on the stairs the whole time.

Mister Blennerhassit entered the room and received the barrel smack in the middle of his face.  He was alone and had obviously been sent to see what all the noise was.  He fell forwards and landing face down.  

"Is he dead?"  I asked numbly.

"Still breathing," Withnail confirmed, he looked at me approvingly  "good shot! May I suggest that we now run like fuckery?!"  

It was a good suggestion we burst through the door, through the pub and out onto the street before anyone had a chance to say anything.  

*****

"So whatever happened to your Uncle Monty?" 

It was a few hours later and Withnail and I were sitting by the Thames drinking.   We had kept running for what seemed like an eternity even though there was no one in pursuit.  Eventually we had found ourselves by a bridge over the Thames leading over to the shopping centre and finally we had come to a halt.

We had spent a few minutes gasping for air until Withnail had pointed out the   oddbins sign halfway down the high street. 

"Look "  He cried, "We're safe!"   

Withnail took another sip from his beer can,  "Uncle Monty? He's still around you know, still owns the cottage too."

"Really?"

"Last I heard of Danny he was in prison."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I saw Presuming Ed the other day…"

"Really?"

"Yes"  Withnail nodded, "he was telling me how great you were in that vampire film…"

"Really?"  

"Nah, he thought you were crap really!"

"that's okay then for a moment you had me worried..."

And on it went as we toasted the ducks and watched the sun go down.


End file.
